“I was thinking about your whales,” Ryan said. “What do whales do?”

“What do they do?” She held her knife and fork poised over the piece of sirloin on her plate and looked from the kitchen to the picture window in the other room. She looked clean and scrubbed in the faded green sweatshirt. Her tongue moved around inside her mouth. “They eat squid,” she said finally. “They love squid. And they like to play around, talk to each other.”

“Make love?”

“When the cows are in the mood.”

“It’s up to the girl, uh?”

“I guess so, unless the boy whale’s really horny.”

Ryan was feeling good-when he came in, he saw the wine in the Blue Nun bottle at the same level-but he didn’t want her to think he was working up to something, talking about the whales making out. It was strange, last night she’d been naked, shoving her box at him; but now she was a different person and he was afraid to say the wrong thing.

They had finished the white while she broiled the steak. They were halfway through the Almadйn red now. When her glass was down, she wouldn’t pour her own. She’d wait for Ryan to pour it, and he’d feel or imagine her watching him fill their glasses, making sure he didn’t take more for himself. He imagined it because it was something he used to do. He didn’t look up to see if she was watching; he was afraid to.

When they finished eating, there were still two inches of wine left in the bottle. She picked up the bottle as she cleared the table and didn’t seem to know what to do with it.

“You want to finish this?”

“No, I don’t care for any more,” Ryan said.

He watched her set the bottle on the table again. While she was doing the dishes, Ryan drying, he put the cork in the bottle and placed it on top of the refrigerator. There it was for whoever wanted it.

After, they took their shoes off and walked down to the flat smooth sand and stood watching the surf, feeling the shock of cold as the water rushed in and the sand alive beneath their feet as the water was drawn back into the sea. He was at ease with her outside, on the beach, and then sitting in deck chairs on the patio. Even when they were silent he was at ease and felt good.

But when they went in again and were alone in the room he was self-conscious and wondered what she was thinking, if she expected him to touch her and make the moves. The night before, she had said, “I’ve been wondering when it was coming-all the times you’ve been here.” She had been drunk saying it; still, she had thought it and said it. He wanted to touch her and she probably expected him to. He didn’t know why he felt dumb and awkward. If she didn’t want to do it, she’d tell him. But it had to be natural.

She went in the bathroom and came out, and he went in and washed and brushed his teeth and combed his hair. When he came out, she was in bed. The slipcover had been taken off his bed and the light blanket and sheet turned down.

“Where’d you find the pillows?”

“In the closet.”

He took off his shirt and pants. “Well, good night.”

“Good night,” she said. “Sleep well.”

He got in bed and lay on his back staring at the ceiling with the good-looking girl lying in her bed fifteen feet away. An outside light from somewhere reflected on the ceiling.

Maybe she’d come over.

No, she was waiting for him. Go on, for Christ’s sake. She was going to think he was a fag.

In the silence he could hear the surf, a good sound, far away.

She said, in the darkness, “Ryan?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re a nice guy, you know it?”

“Thanks,” Ryan said. “You’re nice too.” After a little while he rolled over on his side and rolled quietly a few more times in the hour it took him to go to sleep.

She had expected him to come over. She was ready and would have let him get in her bed. When he didn’t, she was surprised, but not disappointed. There was time and she knew it would happen, not with one of them making the move, but letting it happen, perhaps when they least expected it.

He said to her, “You better be careful the first day.”

She said, “No, I look like I burn, but I don’t. I get tan pretty quick, a couple of days. How about you?”

“Yeah, I used to burn, but I don’t anymore.”

That kind of beach conversation and talk about food-Do you like key lime pie? Do you like oysters?-and movies and movie stars and books they’d read, the one Denise was reading-“I know it’s dumb and she’s a terrible writer, but I love it”-lying in the Florida sun, rubbing each other’s back with lotion, going in the water to cool off rather than swim, neither of them was a swimmer-nothing about Mr. Perez. What was he doing? Who gave a shit?-and going to sleep on the beach in the late afternoon, waking up in cool shade, the sun behind the wall of condominiums, going to the Oceanside Shopping Center with the feel of the sun and the sand still on them, natives in one day, to buy straw hats and beach towels that said Pompano Beach, Florida, and oranges and avocados, a half pound of pistachios. They ate ice-cream cones and watched the white Cadillacs of the retirees take fifteen minutes to make a right-hand turn. Ryan said, You know what you do when you’re retired? You wait for the mail. First you wait for the paper and then the mail. Then you wait to get two thousand miles on your car so you can take it in for an oil change and a tune. He said, You see those Bermuda shorts the retired guys wear? You see how high they wear them up over their stomachs? Denise said, Yeah? Ryan said, What I want to know, where do they get zippers that long? Denise said, The same place the wives get the sequined sweaters they wear over their shoulders. Do you think the sleeves are real or fake? Ryan told her why didn’t she ask one of them, a retiree wife? She did, too. She asked a woman in front of the Oceanside Market if the sleeves of her sweater were real or for show. The woman looked at her. They walked back to the Vista Del Mar, past the hot red Pinto parked in front. Washing your car every day is also big, Ryan said. The salt air. Denise said, Washing me isn’t going to be any quick rinse. I’m dying to take a shower. Ryan said, You want some help? She laughed, she didn’t really answer him. It was coming, though.

Denise took her shower first. She came out with a Pompano Beach, Florida, towel wrapped around her, drying her hair with a bathroom towel.

She said, “Your turn.” A look passed between them.

Taking his shower, Ryan thought about the look and the girl in the room in the quiet early evening and felt himself becoming aroused. Drying himself in front of the mirror he liked his color, he liked the way he looked, the way his hair hung down uncombed and the shiny glow on his face. He rubbed in some Ice Blue Aqua Velva. He looked strong and healthy. He felt good.

When he came out, with the bathroom towel around his waist, he saw Denise still in the Pompano Beach, Florida, towel, rubbing her short blond hair. As she brought the towel down, he saw the look again, felt it, and knew she did too. She kept looking at him as he came over to her and put his hands on her arms, then let them slide around her, feeling her hands on his ribs, her hands slowly moving around him as they closed their eyes and kissed, moving their heads a little, getting it good and comfortable, feeling each other’s mouth and parts of lips, holding and pressing gently, making it last and knowing there was a lot more to come. There was relief in it too, finally, the sound of relief when they breathed and came back to each other.

They smiled as they made love.

Boy, it was good, and Ryan told her he didn’t believe it. He said, It’s so good making love to somebody you love. Like the first time, only way better. Do you feel that? He could ask her because he knew she felt it. She smiled and said, Uh-huh, I feel it. He said, God, I don’t know what to do. I want to do everything at once. Seeing the smile in her eyes, knowing they were both feeling the same thing, kissing and not being able to kiss each other enough, putting his hand on the patch of hair between her legs and feeling her girl hand on him, still kissing, their mouths moving, holy shit, it had never been like this before. He said, I’ve never been here before. I’ve never had a feeling like this. She said to him, Put it in me. He watched her eyes and heard the sound that came from her. They were there and he didn’t know if he could stand it, aware of himself for only a moment before he was aware of both of them, trying to get closer, all the way, and somehow get lost within each other. They let go, straining to hold on tight, hearing sounds coming from inside them. He breathed and got his breath and they were kissing again, lying on their sides facing each other, kissing, breathing against each other’s skin, faces, kissing, looking at each other, smiling tired effortless smiles.